It's Friday, in the last few minutes before the work-week ends. I am smorfed in a Vicodin haze, about ready to crawl into a multi-ton beast of rubber and steel and gasoline and bump and grind my way home amongst the drivers of more fragile cake-eater vehicles, yet I have no fear, for my steel is sturdier than their plastic.
Tonight shall be minutely festive, I think. I feel a little celebratory, happy or something akin. I don't have anyplace to go or anyone to go there with, so the darkness shall be my companion.